


An Ever Fixed Mark

by My_words_fly_up



Series: An Ever Fixed Mark [5]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Falling In Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 20:19:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13084596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_words_fly_up/pseuds/My_words_fly_up





	An Ever Fixed Mark

The boy could not read, but he knew his numbers. His face was streaked with grime and the hair sticking out from under his cap looked as though it had not been washed in a year.

However, it was not his appearance that mattered. What mattered was the boy claimed to be familiar with Grosvenor Square. Harry Stiles did not ask this boy in Seven Dials how he should know the high end area, but had little doubt he was dealing with a pickpocket.

“Now remember, you must use the side entrance reserved for deliveries,” Harry said with much importance.

The boy nodded, though his lip curled from his obvious disdain for anyone that should require two entrances when he did not have one. “I won' forget.”

“You must make sure this go to Mister _Louis_ Tomlins. You cannot let the butler misunderstand and give this to George Tomlins, who is his father. You will remember 'Louis' is the right name?”

“Blimey, yes.”

The envelope in Harry's had was an extravagance he could little afford, the ink alone cost a small fortune, but it was something he had to do. To think it may end up tossed in a gutter without ever getting to its recipient left him uneasy. But neither could he risk confirmation from this boy that it would ever be delivered. The boy might be offered more coin to give up his location in Seven Dials where he was given the letter, but that would not matter; he and Harry would part after this so he could not be followed.

Not that he knew for certain such a thing would happen. It was just as possible that Louis Tomlins would feed this letter to the fire with a curse on his lips. Harry thought he might deserve as much. _Both of us are wronged and both of us did wrong._

The boy was waiting, his dirty palm open. “Hell, mister, I don't 'ave all day.”

Harry handed him the letter and two silver shillings. “Thank you.”

The boy was not used to courtesy and gave Harry an odd look as he snatched the letter and coins before disappearing into the crowded on the street. It was mid-morning now and if the boy went straight to Upper George Street he would be handing over the letter some time after lunch.

Four days had passed since Harry so drastically made his exit from the very place he was sending his letter. He was still angry. He was still heartbroken.

He could not know in this moment if this was the right thing to do. He only knew that it was done and he could not go back. It was reckless and foolish. People like him could not afford to think with their hearts. _If there is warmth and food, so what if there is a wife?_

The letter had taken him a day to write, though it was as simple as he could make it. There was a real fear that if the letter even made it to the Tomlins residence that it could fall into the hands of the wrong person. Would he have written more if not for such a risk? He was not certain, but the letter was on its way and there was nothing left to say on the matter.

' _I am truly sorry for my abrupt departure. And I will ever be sorry for the trouble you went through in all you did for me. I am also sorry for the trouble my actions should cause._

_But I am not sorry that I left._

_My dearest Louis, please forget. You must see that this is for the best._

_I wish you well. I thank you for all that you gave me._

_I hope you understand._

_H.'_

That life was over. It was time to move forward. It was the only way he would survive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harry Stiles was working for a bakery, and he was grateful for it.

There were chimney sweepers, rat catchers, weavers in the textile mills, and mudlarks who braved the murky water of the River Thames in search of anything that could be sold. There were not many jobs in this part of London that would be considered easy. And worst of all at the end of the week a few pence was all there would be to show for it. Still, nothing was as bad as the children recruited for the matchstick factories. All jobs had their dangers, but life in a matchstick factory was different. The older girls already exhibited the signs of such work. Their jaws were swollen and lined with seeping sores, a result of too much exposure to the chemicals used to make the matches. Many of them would die by these wounds, but still they worked, because there was no other option.

While bakers faced their own hazards on the job, at the end of the day there was always something to eat. It was not the highest quality of grain, (hardly surprising for a baker on Great St. Andrew Street, which ran through the notoriously disreputable Seven Dials neighborhood), but it was still food, and that was something more valuable than coin.

Harry was not a true baker or even an apprentice or a journey men. He made deliveries and often he would help with cleaning, but afterward he returned to his room on Tower Street at the end of the night. The shifts of a baker were seemingly endless, so the shop designated a space where a few hours of sleep could be snatched here and there. None were charged rent for this spot piled with blankets, and that in itself was a blessing for most of them.

The baking started at ten o'clock at night, and it would not be done until the next afternoon. During all these hours men prepared more dough, molded it to be round or brick shaped, and then filled the trays in one of the two underground ovens where there was no ventilation, too many rats, and a ceiling that was so low any man standing taller than five foot six inches would have to slouch to avoid hitting their head.

The shifts were so long it was the duty of the foreman to wake any workers that started to doze while kneading the dough. The men were not punished, it was not for lack of effort that they were so exhausted, but in order to prevent any injury to themselves they need be watched.

Much like the matchstick makers, bakers were not known to live long lives. The oldest in this bakery was thirty-one. There was certainly something noxious about inhaling the flour and dust in the small hot bake houses, and it resulted in sicknesses of the chest, nose bleeds, and coughs that never faded.

Which was why Harry Stiles never complained about making the deliveries. The air in Seven Dials may not be fresh, but it was certainly better than the air inside the bakery. And though deliveries had their own hazard, as there was no shortage of unseemly residents in Seven Dials with its factories, gin mills, opium dens, and brothels, it was still better than being trapped inside all hours.

Harry had just completed his twenty-third delivery for the day and was heading back to the bakery. The September air was crisp, and each day was cooler than the last. There was something to be said about the ovens that kept the bakery warm, despite all the complaining on hot days when the men would sweat buckets while they worked.

_Such a different life this is..._

_No. Best not to think of it._

It was so easy to forget, when he was busy, when he was exhausted. But still, thoughts crept in.

_Will he haunt me forever?_

Harry quickened his step, pulling his coat tight. If not for the chance meeting with an apprentice named Milton he did not know where he would be working, and that thought worried him. He wondered if he should not give up his room and begin sleeping in the bakery, but he decided that would happen when he had no other option. That day would come. But it was not here yet.

Harry had sold the proper clothes he wore as a valet to rent his little room off Tower Street. The shoelaces and shoes had gotten him plenty to buy clothes that would not get him robbed for sticking out like a sore thumb. Piece by piece he sold the clothes he had until there was nothing left of the servant he had pretended to be.

_But what of that beautiful boy who stood so lost in a garden full of people who would never know the worth of his light?_

_Did Louis ever get the letter?_ Perhaps Louis was relieved that it was over. Despite all the work that went into securing his position with such a prestigious household, what if Harry's departure was the end they both needed? The gentleman had gotten himself into something of a mess and might be relieved to be out of it. _Had he not been pulling away from me? What if it was not the lie that made him grow distant, but the realization of what need be?_

_Best not to think of it._

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve, adjusting the empty satchel on his shoulder.

Truly, what would happen when Winnifred eventually got with child? _He would love her. He would grow to love her as the mother of his children, and what would I be then?_

_His whore._

_Stop it._

Harry must forget him. His survival depended on it.

So Harry thought of the seventy sacks of flour they would need to prepare this week, of the potatoes that would arrive the next morning, and of the dreaded Saturday, their busiest day.

Harry Stiles made his way down the broken pavement of the busy street, ignoring the vendors who hawked their wares, side-stepping a man who staggered beneath two bulging sacks, and dashing into the gutter to avoid two drunken men who began swinging at each other.

This was his life now. Though it was vastly different from his life months ago, this was for the best and there was nothing else to even consider.

 

 

 

 

 

A rain in the early morning hours had already caused an overflow of sewage in the gutters and Harry was careful to avoid the filthy water as he finished his deliveries.

There was no shortage of winding alleys in this neighborhood and neither was there a shortage of people to fill them. Bodies half-alive were huddled in doorways and alleys, soaked, watching with distrusting eyes and skeletal faces. Because there was also a superfluous of bird keepers in Seven Dials, all the chirping echoed strangely in this dreary place.

Harry was hungry for a meal other than bread and he stopped at a street cart to buy an eel pie. It was tasteless, and for that he was grateful. Despite his hunger, he doubted his own abilities to choke down the old, jellied eel if it had any flavor. Why could halibut not flourish in the Thames? Why of all things must eels be so plentiful?

Lost in his thoughts and wiping his greasy fingers against his worn coat, he never saw the woman approach and wrap her arms around him in such a way he thought he was being attacked.

“Harry! I thought my eyes were playing tricks, but it really _is_ you!” She cried.

He stumbled in her embrace. “What are you...Lucy? Lucy!”

The woman's cap had fallen away to reveal messy red hair.

“Harry Stiles if I weren't so happy to see you I would beat you bloody!” Finally releasing her hold, she stepped back to survey him. Once she seemed content that he was not in any terrible condition, she continued. “It's been ages since I've seen you.”

“I...I was going to visit...” he said.

Lucy's eyebrows shot up. “When? Before or after you went running away from your pretty little gentleman?”

_How does she know?_ Harry realized that she was staring at him, waiting for an answer. “I am a grown man, I did not run away.”

“No?” Lucy regarded him doubtfully, but he could see there was more relief than anger in her face. “What is going on, dearest? What are you doing here?”

“You've seen him, then?”

A light mist began to fall from a darkening sky.

Lucy nodded. “Is there a pub around here? Somewhere we can chat?”

It was on his lips to excuse himself, knowing he should go back to work. What could he say if someone saw him slacking off in a pub? But it was as if only speaking of _him_ had some sort of power and Harry could not ignore the ache of wanting to hear something...anything...of this person he wished to forget.

“There is a place right around the corner.”

Lucy linked her arm through his as if no time had passed between them, and just as they entered the pub it began to rain buckets. The room was empty, dimly lit, and smelled of urine. Hardly a place for catching up, but it would do.

They slid into a bench as a wrinkled man appeared from the back, clearly annoyed that he should be bothered with customers. Lucy called out an order of two porters as she shrugged off her coat and unwound the scarf from around her neck.

“How are you, Lucy? I hope you have been well.”

She shrugged. “I could be better. I could be worse.”

“What do you mean?”

The wrinkled man brought them two dirty glasses and held out his hand for payment. Lucy went to dig through her pocket, but Harry grabbed his coins and paid.

Lucy made a face. “I ain't hard up for coin!”

“Good, you can buy another if you want,” Harry said lightly. “What is it that could be better, Lucy?”

“I didn't mean anything by it, just life as usual at Charlie's,” she answered dismissively. “Now, tell me, Harry Stiles, why did not come to me when you left?”

Harry picked at a piece of dry food on the glass. He _had_ walked to Charrinton Street, but he did not get as far as Hartwick House. It had been raining that day, and it all looked so unfamiliar, this place that had been his home. He could not make himself go, not even to visit Lucy. At that time he did not know what lay ahead of him. Not that Charlie would necessarily offer him his old room, but what if he did? Could Harry have said no? Could he have left everything to go back to that life? Determined that it would never be so, he let the idea of ever going back die.

“I missed you Lucy, but it is not so simple,” he finally said without elaborating. “Besides, now you can see I am doing all right for myself. At the time you would have thought I'd lost my mind for leaving.”

“Why _did_ you leave?”

It was not fair to assume Lucy would not understand, but it was such a difficult thing to explain. “What did he tell you?”

“Not much, truthfully. He came early one morning, wondering if we had seen you. He said you ran off. He looked dreadful, Harry, I thought at first that he might be sick.” Harry's stomach lurched. “We told him you hadn't been around. He went back to his carriage and waited there for several hours. I wondered if he maybe fell asleep. After my last customer, I saw the carriage was still waiting. The next morning it was gone, but he came again later that day, asking again. I thought the worst had happened, I really did, when you didn't show up. He later sent a messenger and said you were well and had gone your own way. I haven't heard from him since.”

_I never meant for him to suffer._ “I sent him a letter.” Harry lowered his eyes. “I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't want anyone to worry about me.”

She took a swig of her drink. “He wouldn't tell me why you left. Are _you_ going to keep dancing around the question?”

“He's getting married,” Harry said it as if the words were not a knife to his heart.

“Married?”

“A wife certainly complicates things. He and I, we were hardly destined for 'death us do part'.”

“Who is, love?”

“Not us.”

Lucy sighed. “You couldn't have made it work? You would pick life in Seven Dials?”

_I love him too much._ “A husband getting caught with a mistress is one thing. A husband getting caught with...me...she could ruin him. It was better to end it, before it was too late.”

It was the truth. What if Winnifred, who would never be so easy to fool as Alfred, caught them? If she ever suspected what was happening she could make Louis' life miserable.

“Maybe...you didn't need to be his servant anymore...but-”

“No. It is over.”

“Harry, I think-”

“There isn't anything to think about, Lucy,” he said quickly. He downed his drink, which tasted like copper and mud. “I must get back to work. I am glad we crossed paths. We must get together again soon, when we have more time.”

“Where are you working?”

“Not far from he,” he answered, deliberately vague. “I'm sorry I have to cut this short.” They both stood, and Lucy hugged him.

“Promise you won't let as much time pass, Harry.”

“I promise...” He kissed her on both cheeks.

“See you soon, dearest,” she said quietly, watching him go, not fooled by his promise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

For two weeks Harry thought of nothing but Louis Tomlins.

For all his attempts to forget the gentleman, one conversation had undone it all. Whenever he closed his eyes he could see Louis sleeping soundly in that little bed in the country house. Sometimes he could _smell_ him. Always, he could see himself in the reflection of those blue eyes.

If only they had stayed forever in that country house.

_No. That moment ended when Louis became engaged._ He _did this._ The floodgate had opened and Harry found that he was still so angry!

This day felt especially long and Harry was tired. He was not sleeping well, though he was drained. He decided he should invest in a warmer blanket and certainly the chilly night was keeping him awake; not the thoughts that ran rampant once the candle was extinguished.

October was right around the corner, and there was much evidence of it. Almost every day it rained, not for long, but enough that puddles were everywhere so Harry spent his day with damp socks.

His deliveries were done and he was headed down Queen Street back to the bakery. If an old man had not bumped into him, Harry would have never lifted his gaze and looked across the street. It was there he saw him.

Harry blinked, as if he did not believe his eyes.

But nothing had ever been so clear.

Even from this distance he _knew_ him.

Dressed in an over-sized blue jacket and gray striped trousers, he had never looked so beautiful.

The old man muttered some apology as he walked off, but Harry never heard him. _What are you doing here, Louis?_ He could not tear his eyes away. Much like looking at the sun, he knew if he stared to long he would go blind.

As if Louis Tomlins sensed he was being watched, he turned.

And then...their eyes met.

Louis opened his mouth, and though Harry could not hear him, he imagined his soft voice, “Harry?”

Harry wanted to run. More than that, he wished he had never noticed Louis so he could avoid this completely. He shook his head and took a step back.

“Harry!”

That time he heard Louis' voice. Still, Harry took another step back and began walking in the other direction.

“Harry, wait!”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Louis was already coming over, closing the distance between them by hurrying between the people that filled the streets.

Harry felt an aching pull in his body. How long had it been since they had been so close together? _Since a littler after Easter._ How was that possible? It really felt like no time at all. _No, that is not true._ A season has passed, an eternity, for nothing else could explain why they stood now like strangers.

“Why did you turn away when I called after you?” Louis was out of breath from his little dash.

Harry's heart was racing as if _he_ had been running. “I didn't.” Louis frowned, his eyes searching. He did not need to call Harry out on the lie, as Harry admitted it himself. “All right, maybe I did.”

Louis reached out his hand, but lowered it before Harry could feel his touch. “You must really want to avoid me if the sight of me warrants such a reaction.”

“I do not...I do not know what to say.”

“I suppose I don't either.”

Louis' hair was recently trimmed, and the cut was most flattering. The coat he wore was new, Harry could tell. The scent of aftershave carried in the breeze, with a hint of tobacco. It was perhaps the loveliest smell in all of Seven Dials. “Well, why are you here then?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Lucy told you, didn't she?”

“You mustn't be angry with her.”

“I'm not.”

The already crowded streets became even more so as a shift ended at a nearby factory. A pack of dogs were snarling over a found treasure as a group of muddy children cheered them on. A drunken man had already fallen over in the street and a man on a cart yelled for someone to pick up the sod before he ran him over.

“She wanted to ease my mind, that is all. I asked her where she had seen you and she told me,” Louis said, as if the explanation was needed.

“You shouldn't have gone through the trouble,” Harry mumbled. “I hope you don't have a coin purse. One need only look at you and know you do not belong here.”

“I carry nothing valuable.”

“Your clothes alone are worth a fortune.”

“My driver is parked just down there.”

“He won't be of any use to you if he is robbed too.”

“I am careful, Harry.”

Harry shrugged, not wishing to appear overly concerned when he was fuming with the gentleman's carelessness. “So...what do you want?” The words were so cold Harry did not recognize his own voice.

Louis shifted on his feet. “There are some things left unsaid, aren't there?”

“Best leave them that way.”

“You could have told me what you wanted. It did not need to happen as it did. Did you think I would have made you stay against your will?”

“I am sorry for any mess I made by leaving.”

“So you said in your letter.”

“I do not mean to seem ungrateful! You went through so much trouble and...to think of the money you gave Charlie-”

Louis' eyes widened. “You think I care about the money?”

“No...I just mean that I am sorry. For the way it happened.”

“As am I.” Louis tugged at the white gloves on his hands.

The people flowed by them in such a blur it did not matter to Harry at all that they were standing in the middle of street having this conversation.

“It was a mistake to keep the engagement a secret. You asked me again and again what was wrong and I could not make myself say it.”

“It happened at the party in the country, didn't it?”

“It did not happen like you think.”

“I didn't know what to think!”

Louis lowered his eyes. “Everything was spinning out of control...I tried to stop it...it all happened so fast. I wish it did not happen the way it did, but I know I did not make it easy. I acted most selfishly.” Louis' voice grew quiet. “It would not be fair to anyone engaging in an extramarital affair. You saw it, that night. You saw what I refused to admit. Ah, Harry, I did complicate things. I hope that you can forgive me, and perhaps...well, that you won't feel the need to avoid me.”

_I love you, I love you, with all my heart and all that I am, and I shall love you until I have no more life in me, and even then, your name will be my last breath._

“'Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done, is done'.” The Shakespeare quote was all Harry could think of to say. What good would it do to speak of his true feelings? Harry had resolved himself to this fate and it was for the best. It took all of his willpower to keep the tears from falling, for all his attempts to tell himself this was exactly what he wanted.

“Lady Macbeth.” Louis' eyes seemed far away.

As if he could not leave well enough alone, Harry asked, “Have you gotten married?”

Louis tensed. “No. Not until spring.”

Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Spring.” A season had never sounded so ugly.

“I have all your things. Your books, your clothes, and your wages...”

“What? Jesus, Louis, keep it. I'm certain I owe you.”

“You don't owe me anything. And those are _your_ things.”

“No, they aren't.”

“At least take the wages you earned. You worked hard for it. You could sell the books and keep the money.”

“No. It doesn't feel right. You keep it.”

“I'll hold it for you.”

Harry resolved to let it drop because neither he or Louis would bend. “All right.”

There was brief silence and finally Louis motioned to the bags draped over Harry's shoulder. “What do you do now?”

“I work for a bakery.”

“You do! Are you a baker?”

“Oh, no. I make the deliveries. Sometimes I help.”

“You help bake the bread?”

“Yes.”

He finally looked up, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Sounds like you are a baker to me.”

Harry found himself smiling. “I'm not. Not really.”

“Have you worked here long?”

“For a few months.” Harry adjusted the empty bags on his shoulder. “I need to get back.”

“When are you off work? Can we meet?”

“Meet? Why?”

“Drury Lane is not far from here. Would you be able to go there when you are done with your work?”

“You did not answer my question, Louis.”

“Your question. I am not sure exactly what it means, but my answer is that I would like to be friends.”

_Friends?_ _I have traced my fingers down the curve of your back while you lay tangled in bedsheets. I have tasted mint on your tongue and I have watched you dream._ Could two such people be friends? Harry tried not to outright balk at the request. “However likely someone...like you and someone like me could be friends.”

“I've heard of more unlikely occurrences.”

“What is on Drury Lane? Don't tell me you have joined the theater.”

“No, not the theater. You know the corner of Drury and Kemble?”

“Yes.”

“You will come then?”

Louis' blue eyes glistened as he waited for the answer, something so visibly painful, yet guarded, that Harry was unable to refuse.

“I will see you tonight, Louis.”

“See you then, Harry.”

 

 

 

 

It was with an apprehensive step that Harry made his way down Drury Lane early in the evening. Not only because he avoided walking the streets of Seven Dials at night, but because his heart and his head were at war with each other. Did he really want this? Was this man not the reminder of what he could not have, what could not be? He must remain guarded and strong, and he cursed himself for being silly when he took a second glance at his reflection in a puddle to make sure he looked acceptable.

This neighborhood was not so far from Seven Dials, and though recently improved it was still not a place one would expect to find a gentleman like Louis. The street had a plethora of dress shops, costumes mostly, that were used for the theater. Despite the artistry of such dresses, the glass fronts were so dingy and yellowed it was enough to mute the brightest of colors. He kept his head down to avoid a street vendor harassing people in an effort to sell the last of his kidney pies.

It was not long before Harry paused in front of a large brick building with bright blue trim and windows that were fitted with new glass. The gas lamps were lit, and Harry approached the door wearily, wondering if this was the correct place.

A big-bellied, bald man swung open the door as Harry was knocking. “Can I 'elp you, lad?”

“Ah...I'm not sure if I'm at the right place...is Mister Tomlins a guest here?”

The man smiled warmly. “ _Guest?_ Nah. But yer at da right place all right. Come in.”

Harry walked into a warm, big front room. The floors were freshly scrubbed and it looked as though the walls had been repainted. It was surprisingly clean, a stark contrast to the grime of the street. There were chairs arranged all around the room, some pulled up to small round tables and others lined up in a row. In the back of the room he noticed serving plates being cleared by two maids.

“Harry!”

The voice came from the stairwell, and that was where the gentleman bounded to the landing. Louis Tomlins had removed the over-sized coat and was wearing a black vest lined with fine silver buttons. Under the coat Harry had been unable to see any definitive shape underneath, but now, with this tight-fitted vest and trousers there was no concealing the noticeable curve of belly and backside. Harry felt the heat in his cheeks as he attempted to act unaffected by the appearance of this beautiful man, and the slight, most becoming change in his physique since the last time he had seen him.

“Good evening, Louis,” he said as calmly as he could manage.

“I am glad you came,” Louis said warmly, reaching out to shake Harry's hand.

_Is this is what we do now?_ Harry awkwardly shook his hand. “What is this place?”

“I will explain. First, would you like to sit? Would you like some tea?”

Harry nodded, and followed Louis through a door to the kitchen. The cabinets were new, as was the large oven that caught Harry's eye. It looked larger than the one in his the bakery. There were two servants at the sink scrubbing a large black pan, and they greeted Louis.

“Cuppa tea, Mister Louis?”

“Yes, please, and one for my friend, Harry.” Louis turned back to Harry. “With milk, Harry?”

“Yes, please.” It had been some time since Harry had milk in his tea.

There was a dining hall off the kitchen, and it was there they sat with their cups.

“Is this...a hotel?” Harry asked, his tea still too hot to drink.

Louis grinned. “No, it's not a hotel. We only opened our doors a month ago...well, forty-two days really. The intention here is to provide a temporary residence for families who are without shelter, until they get back on their feet.”

Harry blinked as the words sank in. “What?”

“There are three floors. The two floors above us are lined with cots and dividers so each family has a bit of privacy. This level serves as a dining hall and sitting room. We were not planning on being open this early, but I learned of a fire on White Lyon Street that left a good number of people without anything, so they were the first to move in.”

“This is for the people in this neighborhood?”

“Yes.” Louis heard the doubt in Harry's voice. “I know we will never be able to accommodate all of them. There isn't enough room in this building. But if we can help a few...make a difference in one life...it is worth it to try.” Harry glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He turned back to Louis, who continued. “There is another building in Devil's Acre that is under construction. It has only just begun, so it will be some time before it is complete.”

“What about crime? How long do you think a place like this could run smoothly until it is corrupted by the very people it aims to help?”

Louis was not surprised by the question. “We have hired security here. If anyone thinks to take advantage or attempt to rob or harm anyone, they will be removed.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“I don't mean to. I know it is not. There will be hurdles. I can only hope we will prevail.”

“Is this organized by the church?”

“No, it is privately funded, though we have enlisted the help of every parish around here to help prioritize the needs of this neighborhood.”

“Who is 'we'?”

“I could never have done this alone. This all came about after many discussions with a few members of parliament I became acquainted with. I found others who share similar ideas...hopes...about the impoverished people of London.”

“Really?” Harry was ashamed that he should be relieved the 'we' did not include Winnifred. Would it have been so wrong if she had proven to have a compassionate bone in her body?

“I...I needed to do something with my time...and all this came about at my gentleman's club. Without the help from the others I could never have gotten this up and running in the time we did. We worked very hard and it came together with the right people in place. We are not the first to do this, so we used a few different models to work for us.” Louis paused. “What do you think, Harry?”

Harry had heard about the fire on White Lyon Street. The people who survived had lost everything. To think...to think perhaps they would have hope...that anyone who came here would have hope. In a world where so many felt forgotten, someone had seen them.

“Louis, you have done something great here.”

“I could not have done it alone. Change will not happen overnight, but one day, perhaps life will be better for those who are given a chance.”

“As long as there are others like you, Louis, perhaps you are right.” Harry wanted to say more, but felt foolish doing so. _Why am I here?_ He did not doubt that Louis wished to show him this place, but to what purpose? _Does he think we can really be friends?_

“The house is quite lively during the day. A nurse comes twice a week to check on anyone who is ailing. Most of the residents are employed, certainly they are hard workers, but do not earn enough to move their family into a suitable home. They can save their wages while they live here.”

There would have been so much work that had gone into this. And part of Harry felt as if something very important had been robbed, that he could not have shared the good and the bad with Louis while he worked so hard for something.

Harry knew then.

_I cannot do this._

_We cannot do this._

He could not be friends with Louis Tomlins. Not if he was in love with him.

Time did not fade this love. Suddenly the wound Harry thought healed was ripped open.

_I cannot give him my friendship._ It would be false. Harry could not let his true feelings be known, so he would always be guarded. And it would hurt him so much. It would hurt Louis.

Louis was sipping his tea when Harry stood. “I need to get home.”

Home. _Where is that, exactly?_ Certainly not the small room with an old mattress. It had been Louis.

“My driver will take you.”

“No, no, I can walk.”

“I am going to my gentleman's club tonight, it would be no trouble at all to take you to your place.” Louis put down his cup.

Walking all the way back to his building through the cutthroats was not so appealing, so in this Harry relented. “All right.”

“Where are you living now?”

“Tower Street.”

Louis went to retrieve his coat, and Harry avoided looking at him while he slipped it over his shoulders. “Shall we?”

Harry was not sure what he had expected from this. Clearly Louis had thrown himself into a most worthy cause, and his heart swelled with pride. Louis was the most generous person he had ever known. It was good that others would know too. Still, deep down, Harry was hurt that he had not been at Louis' side. He was jealous of Winnifred, this woman who did not deserve to hear Louis' inner most thoughts. Was she there for him when something went wrong? _Was she there for him after I left? Was she blind to his pain, or could she tell something was wrong and she had comforted him in ways he had never known?_

Harry did not want to think of Louis' pain. He wanted to think that the gentleman had moved on. It was what they both needed. He hoped that vulnerability he had seen was something else, perhaps eagerness to show Harry his accomplishments.

The carriage ride was quiet, as Louis was unaware of Harry's inner turmoil. Outside the carriage the streets were not so calm, as Seven Dials did not sleep and was as loud as it ever was.

“Harry?”

The carriage had stopped without Harry ever noticing. But that was not why Louis said his name.

“Was it hard? Leaving?” Seated in the shadows, Harry could not see his face.

“I survived.”

There was a long pause before Louis said more. “I would have helped you. I would have helped you settle anywhere you wanted.”

“I know.”

“You didn't want anything from me anymore. You must have been very angry.”

“Yes.” His words caught in his throat, and Harry knew he must not betray anything.

“I wanted to end the proposal.” The words were a whisper.

Harry shook his head. “How? I am not a member of high society, but I know a broken proposal would cause a scandal. Are you prepared to shame her? Are you prepared to end any hope of her finding an acceptable suitor in the future? Neither would such a scandal leave _you_ unscathed, nor your family. And to what end would it serve? Eventually, you would still be expected to marry.”

“I would have tried...to find a way...”

Harry cursed himself for allowing this to happen, for ever agreeing to see Louis when this conversation felt so inevitable. “She would eventually have grown suspicious. And what then? Would we wait for her to find us in bed together?”

“I wouldn't let that happen. I wouldn't be so careless.”

“God, Louis, why did you have to find me! Why couldn't you leave this alone?” Harry said accusingly. “You cannot sit here and say for certain that she would never find us! And what will happen she should have your baby? You will eventually love her as the mother of your children. She will give you something I never could, and this most important thing in your life would always be separate from me, I would be cut-off and kept away and a secret and...it is just too much. I could not sit by and share you with a wife!”

“But you...gave up...so quickly,” Louis said, as though he could not catch his breath.

“It was not so quick! There was time enough between your engagement and the party, that time where you said nothing. Because you knew. You knew it was for the best.”

“You love me. I know you still love me, what we have, it does not go away!”

Harry's heart was pounding. His body was trembling. _Why, why is this happening?_ This morning he was making his deliveries as usual and now he was sitting in a fine carriage doing everything he could not to fall to pieces. He could not give in. Time had passed, but not enough. If Louis thought for one moment that they could be together, he would never give up and his life would be wasted on something that could not be. “You are wrong, Louis. I do not love you. I do not love you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sleep did not come. Exhaustion should have made it so, hours of crying had left him weak, but it was still not enough. Sleep would be a fleeting peace, unless Louis found him there.

The room was dark. His bed was cold. He clutched his chest, as if that would ease the pain of his heart. _Why did Louis make me say it? He knew this is for the best, and he still made me say it!_

Pain and desperation often turned to anger, which might have been a welcomed emotion if Harry could actually use it to cope. But nothing could ease the sorrow his own words had caused another person. Not for anyone and especially not the love of his life.

He should never have gone to that house. He could have declined, made up some excuse, and returned to his room and did his best to avoid Louis from that day forward. He was angry that he had not used any sense.

_Why, Louis, did this need to happen?_ It was precisely why Harry had left the way he did. Their words were dangerous, and nothing they said could change anything.

And now there was a knocking sound in his head.

Harry sat up with a gasp when he realized the knock was on his door. Why would someone be knocking at this hour? It was a robber, that was the only explanation. But why a robber would knock instead of breaking down the door was beyond him? No one had ever said the criminals in Seven Dials were the brightest, but still, Harry jumped from his bed and grabbed the candlestick that being the only proper weapon in his room.

He held his breath and waited.

“Harry! Har-ry! Are you in there?”

_Dear God, it is Louis!_

Harry threw open the door, hoping that he had imagined the voice.

But it was Louis, leaning against the wall to keep himself from falling, a lit cigarette between his lips.

“I could not find you, Harry,” Louis complained loudly. “There was a fellow by the stairwell...I described you and he knew what floor you lived on...ow, what are you doing?”

Harry grabbed Louis by his collar and yanked him into the room. “What are you doing?”

Louis took a long drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke into the air. “I told you. Looking for you.”

“You fool. This isn't the country, where gentlemen can pour themselves out of fancy houses and safely go where they please in any state of stupor. This is Seven Dials and that fellow who hangs around the stairs at three in the morning is looking for trouble!”

“Really? He seemed quite nice.”

“You are lucky he did not cut your throat!” Harry slammed the door and locked it, hoping the man had not decided to follow a gentleman who was clearly unable to defend himself. His hands were shaking as he searched the small tabletop for matches. “I can't believe you came here. I can't believe it, Louis!”

“My driver takes me anywhere I want,” Louis said, as if he had no control over the volume of his voice.

“You will be ashamed of yourself in the morning.” Harry lit the candle warily. “He should know better than to listen to you if you are like this.”

“Like what? Like me?” Louis crawled into Harry's bed and stretched out his legs. The jacket was barely on his shoulders and one fine silver button was all that remained on his vest. His hair was tousled, his blue eyes faraway. As he took another pull of his cigarette, Harry could not help but admit to himself that the most beautiful man he had ever seen was displayed before him.

Instead of confessing such things, he said, “You cannot smoke in here.” It was not a rule in the building, as the building was in such disrepair it looked as though it should be condemned.

Louis made a face. “Will the landlord kick me out?”

“I will kick you out, Louis.”

With effort, Louis sat up. “I think you mean that.” He glanced around. “Do you have a glass?”

“No, I don't.” Harry took the cigarette and snubbed it out against the wall leaving a mark large enough that Harry almost regretted doing that in his anger. “You should go.”

“After I sacrificed my last cigarette you will still make me leave?”

“You said once you were going to quit.”

“I did try.” Louis shook his head. “Now...I smoke much too often.”

“What does _Winnifred_ think of such a habit?” Harry said he name as if a curse.

“Truthfully? Winnifred does not complain. She says I am prone to thickness around my middle and she believes smoking will help counter that.”

“She said what?” Harry nearly choked.

“Smoking is not the only thing I have indulged too often and the proof is in the new trousers I had tailored.”

“Louis, you are talking nonsense! And Winnifred is a prating imbecile if she thinks that you are anything less than perfect exactly the way you are.” Harry was too outraged to reconsider his words.

Louis gave a breathy laugh. “But she is right!”

“No, she's not. You are beautiful. With a little belly...you are beautiful.”

Louis leaned back against the bed. “I don't want to marry her, Harry.”

“It is too late for this.”

“I want to marry _you_.”

The honesty broke Harry's heart. The words were a wish, a prayer, and nothing would ever change that. “You are drunk, Louis.”

“There was Chartreuse at my club. It comes from France and it warms you as you drink. It is delicious.”

“Perhaps you should not drink it if you can't control yourself.”

“It is so hard...when I am trying to dull the pain, but really...I made it much worse, didn't I?” Louis leaned against Harry's pillow. “That night of the party in the country I had drunk enough punch to swim in, realizing too late how much sherry was in it. I was feeling particularly poetic because of it and my tongue was loosened. I spoke of the stars and of dreams and how I had _touched_ these intangible things. I was in heaven, Harry, because heaven was on earth and it was with you. Our time in the country was all I could ever want and I had it. And then I _lost_ it. All my hopelessly endearing talk was overheard by Winnifred's father. Of course I was speaking of her, who else could it be? Before I knew what was happening, he was shaking my hand and telling me that of course he would agree to the marriage, that I had needed only ask, and he had no idea there was such a romantic side to me. He said Winnifred and I were destined to be married. I tried to change course, but it was too late. What could I say? How could I tell them they had misunderstood? That the love I spoke of was not for Winnifred?” There were tears streaming down Louis' cheeks. “You are all I ever want and all that I am. It has been five months since you left. Five months and one week. But who is counting? I thought of you, roaming the streets, and I didn't want that for anyone. Getting that house up and running was the least I could do. I know I can help, not everyone, but some. The gentlemen from my club, they were as passionate as I was and for the first time since you left I did not feel helpless. But...I still feel empty...it hurts so very much. And I know I lied. I lied and I was a fool and I am sorry. But you lied too. What we have outlives death. What we have is guided by the stars. Our love is an ever-fixed mark. And you said you didnotloveme.”

The last of his words were slurred into one, and Harry watched the gentleman lose his fight against the sleep that called him.

“God, Louis, I am so sorry.” He did not want this man, who held all of his heart and more, to suffer. _We cannot do this, he will be married, and he still thinks love will conquer all?_ But nothing Louis had said was untrue. Harry loved him still and no matter how cold he made his heart it would only ever be a lie.

The bed was small, but there was room enough for the both of them, as there always was. Louis was warm as Harry curled up beside him.

Now there was not time to sleep. Harry doubted he could have even if he wanted. He would need to leave for work soon, and he would leave Louis alone.

He ran his hands through Louis' soft hair, though such a simple thing felt as if he were playing with fire. He did not know what the next day would bring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One day had never felt so long.

The deliveries seemed endless and when Harry returned to the bakery he was made to help with the baking and he cursed every moment of it.

When his shift finally ended it was supper time. The days were growing darker earlier, and the rain that fell was more like ice. It would be winter soon, and Harry had already thought about sleeping in the bakery on the nights that were too cold, as his room offered little for warmth.

Harry did not know what to expect when he pushed open the door to his room. Was it relief that he felt, to find it empty? The bed was made. A stack of new candles sat on the table, next to a wrapped ham sandwich and a pitcher of water.

Harry touched the new things, as if he could feel Louis in them. How long had he stayed? Where was he now? What was he thinking?

_I will go to the house and see if he is there._ But what if he wasn't? What if he _was?_

Harry paced the room, muttering to himself. “We can't be friends! What nonsense. I love him. Even more nonsense!”

An hour passed and Harry felt just as loss.

The life he wanted had been interrupted. To see Louis so suddenly and then...the encounter last night had rattled him beyond rational thinking.

_The life I wanted?_ Harry looked around the bare room. What life was this? One without pain? No, there was still plenty of that. One without fear? That was still there too.

It was late. Still, Harry grabbed his coat and hurried down the stairs.

As if the weather had a say in what he should do, it suddenly started to pour.

But Harry had made up his mind. If he did not act now...why did time suddenly feel so fleeting?

He stepped into the rain and was immediately soaked. _This is for nothing! I will get to that house and he won't be there._ But Harry did not turn around. He headed towards Castle Street, as he was considering which route would be the best now that it was raining.

“Harry.”

Harry whirled around.

The gentleman was behind him. His clothes were changed and he now wore a black wool coat, though it was as drenched as Harry.

People were running by, children were being scolded for not moving fast enough out of the rain.

“Where are you going?” Louis' lips trembled.

Harry wiped the rain water from his eyes. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

Harry bit his lip. “Let's get out of this downpour.” He headed towards an alleyway that offered some cover from the rain.

Louis followed.

The bricks were sleek, and the only light came from a half-hidden moon. It was louder in this empty alley than the street, as the rain pelted different metals and linens that offered shelter.

“Where were you going, Harry?” Louis asked again, this most important question.

They stood so close Harry watched a droplet fall from Louis earlobe. “I was going to see you.”

Louis took a step closer, his eyes lowered. “Why? After my behavior last night...why would you want to see me?”

“You know why,” Harry whispered. Louis finally looked up and when their eyes met the stars aligned. “Because I love you.”

“But you hate me for hurting you.”

“Never.”

“You said we cannot do this.”

“We can't,” Harry said breathlessly. “But neither do I know how _not_ to do this. I might as well tell myself that I have no need for air, because I cannot live without it.”

“I do not want to be married. I never wanted to do this to you...”

Harry's eyes burned from the tears. “I know.”

“What do we do, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, and his eyes moved to Louis lips. As if no months had passed between them, as if they were not near a street filled with people scurrying to be out of the rain, as if they were the only two people who ever mattered, they kissed.

It felt so good it hurt.

Harry put his hand on Louis' cheek, and in that moment their love was more powerful than anything that had ever existed.

When they finally parted the rain had stopped. Louis looked at him timidly. “Your lips are the loveliest thing I have ever tasted.”

Harry laughed. “Are you saying I taste better than Chartreuse?”

“Harry, I am completely ashamed of myself-”

“No. I want all of you. Don't be ashamed. I want every piece because no matter what, that piece is you and that is who I want. Even if that piece is a sloppy, _loud_ drunk well...I want it all.”

“Loud?” Louis asked, smiling.

“Quite loud.”

Louis took Harry's hands and entwined their fingers. “These five months without you were awful. I thought about you everyday. I feared I would never see you again. ”

“I was so hurt, Louis. I knew what a wife would bring.”

“And that has not changed.” Louis put his head against Harry's chest. “I don't know what to do, Harry.”

“I don't know either.”

“I promise I will not hide anything from you.”

“I promise I will not do anything without talking to you first.”

Neither promise would prevent heartache. But that was a risk both were willing to take.

Harry would suffer tremendously once Louis was married. Nothing scared him so much as that. But life without Louis was unbearable; that scared him too.

Harry put his hand on Louis' cheek and brushed away a tear. “Do you want to come up to my room? There is a ham sandwich calling us.”

Louis laughed and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek. They would say nothing more about their future this night. This was not the time for false comfort; both feared what the future may hold.  


Harry had thought they were not destined for 'death do us part'. For the first time he believed maybe they were destined for something greater.  


Regardless, whatever lay before them, they would face it together.


End file.
